Yugakimasu
by apathetical
Summary: Role Reversal [ IchiRuki ] Wrought from the same chain of fate, their destinies forever linked as one. The wheel keeps turning, kindred souls collide, and a new path emerges. One girl, one shinigami. The story of destiny begins.


**_A/N:_** _Hello everyone! I'd like to apologize to anyone who might be following my **Kuroshitsuji IR AU** , as I haven't been able to update as soon as I'd have liked. The chapter is nearly done, so I'll try to grind a little and finish it off soon. For all new readers, you can check it out on my profile! Anyways, this will be a strictly **IchiRuki** Role Reversal AU, and other pairings to come. The chapters loosely follow the anime/manga, with all the necessary changes and adjustments. A LOT has changed, more or less, but the concept of Bleach remains the same and I hope you all enjoy reading!_

 ** _Yugakimasu - to bleach/blanch_**

* * *

The night was still.

A beat passed, solidifying a singular moment where neither the wind gusted in a whistling shriek, nor did anything else serve as a disturbance to the peaceful instant. The moon — brimming with luminance and inconceivably whole — cast an unearthly sheen of light that far outshone the dim streetlights and offered a guiding path to the lost. Silent stars paled in comparison to shimmering moonshine, signifying a turn of events perceived as fanfare — the impossible collision.

All at once, time resumed. Brimming light surged heavenward, and amidst the iridescent display of embryonic light, the dark entry of shoji doors burst open. The night's breeze responded in tandem as an obsidian butterfly fluttered adversely, and the anomaly faded, leaving only the eerie glow of moonlight behind.

Cloth fashioned from darkness itself fluttered against the soft wind as sandaled feet anchored against the nearest source of support — an electricity pole, as it happened — the linchpin supporting the thick layers upon layers of cables unravelling into a foundation of its own far, far below.

However overwhelming the force of voltage might be, it was a pale substitute to the pure power coursing through the nameless entity, cloaked in black and a faraway silhouette to the world underneath— a mere visitor, an overseer of the living and a guide to the dead.

Moonshine flecked against the startling shade of orange atop the unknown persona's head — an enigma in his own right – and cast faceted shadows across defined features. A roar in the distance prompted movement; the attuned jerk of his head, and narrowed eyes. A palm wrapped around the hilt of the blade across his back —swathed in ivory strappings, disentangling them with a singular pull as the colossal sword — forged of steel and the starless sky — burned incandescent and silver; feet poised, and the obscure figure's disappeared in a jarring blur of movement, along with the melancholic symphony of the frigid September's breeze.

* * *

A brawny arm swung forward, and its adversary ducked quickly to avoid the brunt of the swipe and countered with a sweep of a leg, blocking and parrying before moving in for a strike.

The tall male whipped around, barely missing the blur of movement as the other's slender frame shifted definitively, their fingers curled in with precision as they launched straight at him, and the collision of their palm sent him stumbling back with a grunt.

A laboured pant resounded within the enclosed vicinity, and though beads of sweat slid down the younger disciple's face, they managed to dodge the clumsy kick sent their way, spinning on a heel and moving in for the finishing blow.

A double palm heel blow against both ears echoed; the resonating smack of skin against skin and within that distortion, that limited timeframe, Rukia moved in for the kill and feinted a kick to the leg, before executing the _real_ thing. Her leg surged upwards and her slim frame twisted downwards, her chest flattened against the mat as her heel met with her opponent's face, resulting in a clean knockout.

The petite brunette straightened as her master approached, lifting her hand in victory. A sonorous bout of applause from her peers commenced, and Rukia glowed with pride, though the urge to wipe the sheen of perspiration against her skin became increasingly overwhelming.

However, she was able to swiftly do so with her sleeve as the small crowd further dispersed, and Tatsuki approached quickly.

"Oi, I see you've been improving," the taller girl called out, a rare grin spread across her face as she clapped her classmate against the back.

A little too hard. Rukia stifled a cough.

"Er, yes, I've been getting a lot of practice since I've started attending sessions more frequently," the diminutive female replied quickly, straightening slightly.

"Well, keep it up and you might be able to beat _me_ one day," Tatsuki said, and shoved her none-too-gently towards the changing room. "Now, go change quickly before you're late again and that ass of a brother of yours has something to say again," she ordered, and when put in such a _delicate_ manner, Rukia had no choice but to obey.

After indulging in a quick shower (she never noticed the ache in her bones after a match until a few minutes had passed— and the sensation of cool water sliding across her skin and soothing fatigued muscle helped, if only by a fraction), the brunette re-dressed into the standard Karakura High uniform of grey and white, and waved the rest of her peers at the dojo off before stepping out.

The cool afternoon breeze gently combed through her hair, her feet effortlessly treading along the familiar path to home. However, an alerting reminder blared at the back of her mind, prompting the ravenette to turn and decided on a quick detour. The roadways were clear as the sky on a hot summer's day, with the occasional passing vehicle like lone drifting clouds.

A tumult of unruly voices barraged against her ears as Rukia rounded the corner, as did the resonating shatter of glass against the sidewalk.

The expression on the teenaged girl's face shifted from perplexed to deadly as her gaze lifted from the splinter of ceramic across the pavement, fixating with an unhinged ferocity at the trio of hooligans that dared to commit such an act.

"Which one of you did this?" she asked tightly, struggling to keep her temper in check.

Hooligan #1 sneered at her, and the two others flanking him followed suit.

"We don't listen to you, little girl. Why don't you run on home before we really make you cry?" he mocked, and his cronies laughed contemptuously, as though there was _actually_ something funny about the statement.

Rukia didn't budge. Instead, her mouth curved into an innocent smile, and she cocked her head to the side.

"Then I'm to hold all three of you accountable for causing a disturbance at the scene of a young girl's death? Fine by me," she hummed, and as they charged, she ducked under, watching with grim satisfaction as their unified front crumbled in the matter of seconds.

Hooligan #2 stumbled forward along with #1, and Rukia quickly maneuvered through the tangle of limbs, delivering a swift sweep of her leg that sent them tumbling down like dominoes. Now only one remained, as his friends remained slumped on the ground defeatedly.

"Too slow," she whispered, and before Hooligan #3 could even process what was about to happen, the brunette's heel crashed into his jaw as her leg outstretched into a decisive roundhouse kick. He rolled on his back, heaping onto his friends.

Rukia scoffed and barely acknowledged the losing party quickly seeking an escape, her gaze sweeping the surrounding area deliberately. The tense ridges of her shoulders only relaxed when her eyes paused on the slight silhouette behind the streetlight, and for the first time that day, the brunette's features relaxed into a genuine smile.

She knelt as the timid girl approached— and to a bystander, the action would seem strange, and although there was no one in sight at the moment, if there was, the petite brunette would care less for a stranger's perception.

"I'm sorry if those mean boys scared you," she murmured teasingly, a thumb and forefinger lightly pinching at the young spirit's cheek. "And I'm also sorry I was so late. I could have prevented this."

The girl — who could be no more than eight years old — shook her head vigorously.

"It's not your fault, Nee-san! They're not the reason I'm sad," she said slowly, earning a frown from Rukia.

She looked down at her feet, swaying from side to side. "… Everytime okaasan visits, she's so sad. And whenever I try to tell her I'm still here, she won't listen, and I don't know what to do."

Her gaze descended hesitantly to meet Rukia's, whose lips compressed tightly at the expression of helplessness in her eyes— so _raw_ and startling.

"You're the only one that listens. Help me, Nee-san."

Seeing that the girl was on the verge of tears, the diminutive female carefully wrapped her arms around the other's smaller frame, offering all of the comfort and security she could give. Reassurance was never her strong suit, but for the sake of the people that sought for aid daily, the least she could do was try.

As she pulled back, the ravenette smiled sadly and brushed stray droplets of tears off the young girl's cheeks and squeezed her shoulders.

"I can only help as long as you meet me halfway. You don't like seeing your okaasan sad, right? Well, okaasan can't see you the way I do. And the only way you'll be able to properly see each other again is if you let go of whatever you're holding onto here and move on."

Nothing that the sniffles had managed to subside, Rukia rose to her full height and allowed her hand to rest against the shorter girl's tuft of chestnut hair, and gave her rich tresses a fond ruffle.

"Can you promise me that? I'll stop by tomorrow and bring you flowers too, but I have to go now. Stay safe, Kimiko," she said fondly, and waved as her bag was swung over one shoulder.

"Bye, Nee-san!" the girl shouted in return, offering a light wave in return.

 _Name: Kuchiki Rukia_

 _Hair: Black_

 _Eye Colour: Purple_

 _Age: 15_

 _Occupation: High School Student_

 _NB: *Can see ghosts_

* * *

Yes, ghosts. Since as long as she could recall, Kuchiki Rukia could see ghosts. Initially, these apparitions were vague and obscure, but developed into distinguishable profiles after time. Only recently the raven-haired girl had discovered she could also interact with them as well as differentiate the difference between the living and the dead. With that, her role as a bridge between both worlds was sealed.

But her gift was as much a curse, and thus, this extraordinary ability was kept a strongly guarded secret to all but one. Even so, with his minimal presence in her life, it was almost as though this was something she faced on her own. Unsurprisingly, the house was devoid of any human company with the exception of the gardener, who, incidentally, was on his way out as Rukia walked through the gates.

Just as she entered her home, not a street away, the hands of fate were swift at work. An animalistic roar echoed down the narrow street as a creature that could only be described accurately as monstrous entity fiercely pursued its next victim.

Its lizard-like tail swished dangerously, a towering, humanoid form thundered behind the very same spirit Rukia had been speaking to moments ago. She ran as fast as her feet could take her, and the deafening roar behind prevented her from turning back, but only run faster. The thunderous pounding against her ears nullified any further sound; the blaring of car horns and collective noise of conversation, all facets of everyday life—to a point where everything evaporated, everything but the distinct feeling of fear, _fear,_ _ **fear**_ ; resonating deep and weighed heavily against her chest, to a point where ragged breaths and much-needed lungfuls of breaths were a part of the impossible.

Allowing a fleeting glance back, Kimiko's eyes widened in surprise; all she saw was _white_ , and her back was against the ground.

She braced herself, but nothing came.

Her eyes opened, and as her gaze lifted, it was only to be met with shoulders swathed in the darkest of fabric and orange hair. The stranger's attire and overall disposition exuded a rather antediluvian impression, wielding a blade almost as tall as himself. Though the black, almost kimono-esque apparel reminded her of riveting stories of the ancient Japanese.

Though, this itself was a contradiction, as the man with hair bright as the sun raised his sword, glinting against the daylight and took to the sky, leaving Kimiko kneeling against the ground. All she could do was stare as the dark warrior, which she could only directly associate as a _samurai_ , whirled in the air, and the tip of his blade pierced the monstrous _thing_ by the verge of its mask; ivory, sharp and spectral,crushing the bone-like structure as he sliced it into half.

* * *

After an uncomfortably silent dinner with her brother (like they always were— though a rare occurrence due to frequent business trips), Rukia trudged up the stairs and shut the door to her bedroom, exhaling a sigh. Thankfully, there were no ghosts lurking around (though she was fairly certain there was one downstairs) so she could afford to breathe before having to start her assignments.

Or so she thought.

All Rukia could do was gape as some _guy_ (and unless she was going blind, with tastelessly dyed orange hair) entered right through her window. What made matters worse; he was wearing some type of robe and rocks with _sandals_. Either she had finally lost her mind or some cosplayer died a very gruesome death.

"It is near," he murmured, assumedly to himself, and stepped onto her bedroom floor.

Rukia ground her teeth and delivered a very swift kick at the base of his spine, causing the tall male to tumble to the ground.

"It is near, my ass," she mocked, the heel of her foot grinding into his cheek as a hand poised at her hip.

Her orange-haired companion merely blinked back in surprise, a hand rubbing along his bruised posterior, and Rukia squinted right back.

"Are you a robber?" she accused, but all she received in return was a look of surprise, as though this breaking-and-entering type of idiot _hadn't_ been aware of her presence this whole time. It only proved to annoy her further.

"You can see me?" carrot-top blinked, looking twice as astounded as before. And frankly, a bit bewildered.

Amethyst hues cut in half a glare, and the vein at her temple throbbed considerably.

SLAM!

"Don't give me that look! You're the one breaking and entering! And yes, I can see you, dumbass!" she snapped.

Her eyes narrowed upon his face, which was growing increasingly redder by the second. Upon realization, Rukia sprung back immediately and gave the citrus-haired stranger a scandalized look.

"Y-You were looking up my skirt! Pervert!"

The brunette hurled one of her shoes his way, which the male managed to just barely avoid by leaning backwards.

"I didn't intend to! I promise!" Ichigo exclaimed, and promptly held his hands up in defence, a nervous bead of sweat rolling down his cheek upon noting the other half of the deadly pair clutched in her hands.

"Now if you would just give me a chance to explain—" The orange-haired male tried, but his efforts were in vain.

"Explain what?! Robbery is illegal!"

"I'm not a robber! I'm a shinigami!"

"You expect me to believe that a god of death exists?" Rukia replied skeptically, hands finding residence at her hips once more.

Ichigo almost groaned in frustration.

"Yes! I mean, no. No, I mean yes!"

Having successfully confused his own self, it was safe to say the apparent shinigami was officially on the verge of ripping his hair out, clump by clump. Five minutes with a girl like Kuchiki Rukia tended to do that to someone. A dead someone. Who was more than likely ten times her age. This girl had not only single-handedly accused, abused and refused to believe him, but there was still something about her that compelled him to do more than simply disappear. Even so, with the faint spiritual pressure he was able to sense from her, she was indeed a force to be reckoned with. He had heard tales of humans with the ability to interact with the dead, but this was his first real encounter with one. Or a human generally.

"One chance. I'll explain everything," he promised, and amber hues softened with genuine sincerity.

This didn't go unnoticed, as he observed the brunette's shoulders relaxing by a fraction.

"Fine," she muttered, arms folding across her chest. "I'll hear you out."

 _*5 minutes later*_

Rukia sat cross-legged on her bed, a sketchpad in her lap as an expression of great concentration graced her features. Ichigo, with another glaringly red shoe imprint against one cheek, sulked in a corner, arms folded grudgingly across his chest.

"The ghosts — spirits I've been able to see thus far — those are Pluses, right?" she asked, busy at work with a myriad of markers.

Ichigo sighed and rubbed a hand across his face for what was probably the umpteenth time.

"Yes, and the ones that are dangerous and can cause harm to Pluses and humans with a high spiritual pressure, like yours, are called Hollows," he said wearily, leaning over her shoulder to inspect her so-called 'artwork'.

"…What the hell are you drawing? I can't understand any of that," the orange-haired male said, surprised that someone could be _that_ terrible at drawing. If he squinted well enough, there may have been tiny ears protruding from the hollows' — no, everything, even what was supposed to be the wandering spirits (it was a miracle he could even decipher that much) seemed to have them too. . .

Everything was bunny themed. And Ichigo contemplated on offing himself right then and there.

Rukia seemed to have around the same train of thought, because her pretty face twisted with a scowl, and she whacked him on the head with her sketchpad. Hard.

"Idiot! I'm only drawing for visual aid!" she snarled as the 'shinigami' groaned in pain, rubbing the side of his head that had been mercilessly abused by the teenager and her deadly sketchbook.

"Ugh. What are you, three years old?"

He probably shouldn't have tested her further, because all that comment earned him was three extra smacks. Although pained, Ichigo had to give her some credit; she was one daring human. For someone who thought he had been a burglar ten minutes ago when they had met, she sure took it into stride.

"Okay, seeing as you've been drawing or whatever, I think it's safe to say that you believe me?" he said, his tone hopeful.

The brunette's lashes lowered as a coy smile graced her features, and somewhere deep down, Ichigo knew he was in big trouble. _Big_ trouble.

Folding her arms across her sketchpad, Rukia crossed a leg over the other, adorning an expression that was both demure and innocent— Ichigo wasn't exactly sure what the typical human schoolgirl was like, but for some reason, he felt like right now, she was the epitome of it.

"Of course I believe you," she replied with a flutter of her lashes in the most saccharine tone he had ever heard.

"You're a shinigami from this Soul Society place, correct? And your duty is to annihilate these malignant spirits— hollows, in order to protect mankind and wandering spirits?" the girl prompted innocuously, brows cresting together.

Ichigo nodded.

"LIKE HELL I'D BELIEVE THAT!"

Suddenly she was standing and yelling in his face (figuratively; her head only came up a bit above his chin, after all) and Ichigo wasn't sure if he should take a much-required step back or retaliate for the sake of whatever was left of his dignity.

"But you said you could see ghosts! Why can't you believe in shinigami?" he stammered, the tightening sensation of fear slowly crawling into the refines of his chest under the female's murderous stare. For a girl probably only one tenth of his age, she was _scary_.

Rukia rolled her eyes. "Tch', because I see ghosts everyday. I've never once seen a soul reaper before," she reasoned, arms folding across her chest.

"And I think I'd remember seeing someone dressed as weird as _that_ ," she gestured to his attire, a small smirk flickering across her pale visage. "Hmm, come to think of it, this is the first time I've met someone with an obnoxious hair colour like yours."

A vein throbbed at his forehead.

"Or this stupid."

"Okay, that's it!"

It happened. He finally lost his temper. Somewhere in the back of his mind, (considering that steam was practically pouring out of his ears, rationality was unexpected to say the least) the orangette wondered how _exactly_ he was able to put up with that short, _sassy_ slip of a girl to such an extent (he was exaggerating—hell, they had barely known each other for fifteen minutes).

"Urusai! I've had enough! Now I'll teach you a real listen, you little brat!" Ichigo flared, extending his arm forward, middle and forefinger pointed straight at her. Rukia bristled and took a step back (was it by instinct), and for the first time, her defense faltered.

"Hado #1: Sai!"

She flinched automatically and squeezed her eyes shut.

A beat passed.

Nothing happened.

Warily cracking open a lid, Rukia had the pleasure of seeing a plethora of emotions flitter across her orange-haired companion's face; from bewilderment, to shock, to outrage.

Most of the anger was directed to himself, of course, because even after forty-plus-years, he still _majorly_ sucked at kido. Even the easiest stuff.

However, it didn't help that Rukia was already in hysterics after his (failed) attempt at demon arts. The sad part? She didn't even know what that _was_.

"What was that? Some type of spell?" she wheezed, struggling to contain her laughter. "It didn't even work!"

"Yes! Shut up!" Ichigo snarled, and outstretched his arm once more.

"Hado #!: Sai!"

This time, it hit home. The petite girl's arms snapped bind her back, limps closing forward as though glued together, resulting in her small form toppling to the floor.

"Ouch! Stop it!" she complained loudly, squirming around on the floor helplessly.

"Stop struggling, midget, it'll only make it worse for you," the flame-haired boy called over his shoulder, peering down at her 'sketchbook' with intense fascination as he flipped through them.

"You were right on one thing, that _was_ a spell, a type that only soul reapers can cast," he said smugly, only to be on the receiving end of another murderous glare.

"Oh, and your drawings abnormally suck by the way."

A _searing_ retort was already at the tip of the raven-haired girl's tongue, but the biting insults died in her throat as the familiar feeling of confusion dissolved whatever irritation had been plaguing her; as the tall male crossed over to the side of her dresser, where another ghost was hiding.

"What are you doing?" she snapped, though it came out more of a pant. Rukia craned her head (after all, this wasn't the most _ideal_ position in the world) to get a better look, and her eyes widened.

Ichigo had the hilt of his sword hovering upon the trembling spirit's forehead. And it's not like she could blame them for being scared either; the thing was gigantic, like a large meat cleaver. As tall as his height, and as obnoxious as his hair. She found it suited him rather well, actually.

"Please..! Don't send me to Hell!" the spirit— an old man, begged, irises glistening with unshed tears and unadulterated fear.

Ichigo scoffed, but didn't move away. "Calm down, oyaji, I'm not sending you to hell. You're going to the Soul Society," he said firmly, and pressed the bottom of his sword against the soul's forehead.

What came after was a burst of shimmering light—and Rukia was forced to squeeze her eyes shut as to avoid the brunt of the bright, burgeoning sphere of light.

Amethyst hues reopened; displaying a myriad of emotions that ranged from bewilderment to perplexity as a dark-winged butterfly fluttered out of her window.

"What was that?" Rukia inquired quietly, shifting herself up against the side of her bed.

"I was doing a 'konso'. It's a soul burial," he replied absently, re-sheathing his sword. "I guess humans like you call it 'passing on'. Helping wandering spirits get to the Soul Society and destroying hollows are mainly what shinigami do. I guess it'd be stupid to ask if you still didn't believe me, huh?"

Just then, the teenager's visage scrunched, her teeth gritting together.

His expression changed immediately.

"Hey, what's wrong? You okay?" Ichigo asked, crouching down to place his hands on her small shoulders.

"Can't you hear that noise?" she replied harshly — albeit unintentionally — as a pained expression seared across her small face.

Ichigo frowned. "What noise?"

The girl winced again and her head fell; and all at once, the deafening wail finally abraded into his eardrums; it was a shrill, predator's cry; brimming with malice and dark intentions. He shook his head, a troubled expression marring his features as pools of amber gandered toward the open window; a gust of window whirling past. That was, without a doubt, the Hollow he had been pursuing, before he had sensed—

Ichigo froze, his gaze spanning back to Rukia.

Now it all made sense. And he couldn't afford to let that thing get any closer to her than it already had.

"That's a Hollow, it must be pretty close. Stay here, I'll be back," the orange-haired boy instructed to the adamant girl, who did nothing but protest as he rushed out of the door, a hand at the hilt of his sword as he raced to beat the hollow there before it rampaged into the house.

"Hey— no— let me go first!" she cried in outrage, resuming her earlier attempts at escape with full force. Lids pressed shut so tight that Rukia could feel the force against her eyes, and focused all of her willpower and inner strength onto one thing: breaking free of the constrictions. A foreign sensation surged forward and the pressure constraining her limbs finally lifted. Rukia exhaled in relief and flexed her fingers, which had been deprived of any feeling thus far, and stumbled out in his wake.

* * *

Ichigo was already halfway out of the front door when that familiar eruption of spiritual pressure burst from within the confines of that house, and found himself torn between the sensation of malice snaking around his throat in dark tendrils, and that reiatsu that was both comforting and terrifyingly strong — wrought of mist and ice — thrum under his fingertips, closing over the hilt of _Zangetsu_ as his gaze flickered from between the Hollow and the doorway before swinging his sword and charging in for the kill, his mind completely far away.

His blade met with thin air as the hollow dodged, and his heels dug firmly into the ground and twisted. A familiar feeling of fatigue ached against his side— ever since this mission started, Ichigo found himself tiring easily, though he blamed it on the unfamiliar environment. The Hollow itself wasn't keen on engaging in battle, rather on _getting inside._ He knew why, too, as a bead of sweat streamed from his temple; that girl, with unnatural amount of spiritual pressure. By the sudden course of moment, which he could barely even focus on due to the threat of the hollow, she had undoubtedly broken the hold of his kido. The thought of a human might have been shocking if it was someone much more proficient in the arts like Hinamori or Unohana; because it was him, and the only person worse than him was Renji. Not only that, but he wasn't blind; taking everything into consideration: seeing 'ghosts', the coincidence of a trail of reiatsu led him straight to her window—

A pitched shriek reached his ears, and there was barely a moment to react.

* * *

Rukia skidded to a halt, and her knees met with coarse asphalt. Her small frame wreaked with a wince; and her head raised.

What she saw next made her blood run cold.

Barely a foot away, was a _monster_ , almost three times the size of the average human. A large hole gaped open at the middle of its chest; the most shocking feature. A fishlike mask structured of pure bone concealed its face, and a series of dark markings descended from the rise of bone-plated shoulders of similar structure to the mask, down its arms, its torso and legs.

So this was a Hollow. And it was terrifying.

The seconds that follow felt far too fast, as the bipedal creature rushed towards her; and if pioneered by instincts, her lips curled back and pitched forward a bloodcurdling scream for help, the shrill flare of her own voice grinding into her ears.

The Hollow's arm reached forward to slam a fist into the kneeling girl, but that was all the opening Ichigo needed; and in the blink of an eye, his sword sliced through flesh and the hollow let forth another roar; this time, one of pain, and the shinigami planted himself directly in front of Rukia to shield her from any further attacks, sparing a glance to the brunette's shaking form.

"Stay calm!" he snapped, not in the mood to soothe her after such a stupid stunt. "Why'd you think I told you to stay back?! It's after you, stupid! Next time when your own damn life is in danger and someone tells you to stay put you stay—"

Mid-sentence, Ichigo was thrown back by a thunderous punch, delivered by the semi-recovered hollow. His back slammed against one of the nearing voice, leaving Rukia at the mercy of the Hollow.

The teenager squared her shoulders and shook off all remaining vestiges of fear, and stared directly back at the Hollow.

"Well, I won't endanger anyone else, if this is truly because of me," she murmured, casting a forlorn glance toward the fallen soul reaper, before her gaze hardened into pure steel.

"This ends here with me."

"This _moron_ ," Ichigo growled, wiping blood off his cheek.

The Hollow rushed by; its mouth wide open to devour, and Rukia clenched her fists together.

Yet again; the blow never came.

All of the blood drained from her face as her eyes fell upon the obstructive force. The orange-haired soul reaper had thrown himself to take the brunt of the blow to protect her; and as the hollow stumbled backwards, taken aback; he fell to his knees, then slumped against the pavement. Deep lacerations were sustained at his sides and stains of dark red bloomed against the obsidian material of his shinigami attire.

Ichigo coughed, blood staining his lips.

"If you really thought that this would all end with your stupid self-sacrifice, then you're wrong," he told her, and she looked down, swallowing thickly. Her hand closed over his larger one, enfolding it into both palms.

"I'm sorry. I just wanted to…"

"Oi, oi. Do you want to defeat that thing or not?" Ichigo grumbled, and snatched back his hand. He grinned; teeth coloured with blood. She winced.

"Don't give up on me yet. There's a way. But…" the shinigami hesitated, his eyes wandering to rest upon his sword.

"What is it? I'll do it," Rukia insisted, the fire of determination burning bright within her violet-hued eyes. "Whatever it is, I'll do it."

Ichigo strained to meet her gaze, and managed to drag his sword upright.

"You have to become a shinigami. Place the point of my soul-cutter over your heart, and I'll transfer half of my shinigami powers over to you. You'll become a shinigami yourself, but only temporarily. It's the only way."

Rukia hesitated. "I… Are you sure this will work?"

Ichigo looked away. "I don't know. Your spiritual pressure is pretty high, but chances of this actually working ain't so high. But, this is the only way. Are you doing it or not?"

For a brief moment, her resolve faltered. However, her stance straightened considerably, and she shook her head, as though dissuading any negativity.

"I refuse to let anyone die for my sake. Not you, not even my brother," Rukia said firmly, raising her chin high. "Hand over your sword, shinigami. Let's do this."

Ichigo grinned, and slowly got to his feet, hands clenched around Zangetsu.

"It's not 'shinigami'. It's Kurosaki Ichigo."

The girl's gaze softened, and her lips upturned into a small smile. "Kuchiki Rukia… it's nice to meet you. Let's hope this won't be the last time we meet."

The thundering of footsteps drew close as the hollow charged towards them. Rukia's gaze snapped back to Ichigo, who offered a small nod.

"The hollow's coming. Ready?"

With a deafening wail drowning out all surrounding swords, all Rukia could offer was a nod in return, as her arms reached around Zangetsu's large form and gripped into the hilt. Ichigo took this as a prompt to drive his blade into her, careful not to deliver a deep wound, given the size of his zanpakuto.

A blinding light flashed upon the transfiguration of power, engulfing both forms into the explosion. Ichigo was flung back by the sheer, insourmountable force, and his sword dissipated under his fingertips. The dust settled quickly, and his eyes opened; the first thing he saw was her petite form, clad in the standard shinigami attire, the shihakusho, a sleek, white blade fitted against the palm of her hand, and the hollow's remaining arm on the ground.

The orange-haired shinigami looked down, to find that his shihakusho had been turned into a pure white. And with a sudden block against his senses, like all power had been drained from his body; it was clear what had happened. He had only meant to transfer half of his powers, but it looked like he had lost all of his powers to her.

But, even as the feeling of dread continued to sink in his chest, Ichigo couldn't help but admire the grace and precision of the short-haired girl as she flung herself straight into the midst of battle, slicing into the Hollow's remaining limbs at an unimaginable pace, leaping into the air and slashing her sword downwards, the sharp blade breaking into the layers and layers of bone.

 _What is this girl?_

 _Name: Kuchiki Rukia_

 _Hair: Black_

 _Eye Colour: Purple_

 _Age: 15_

 _Occupation: High School Student/Shinigami_

* * *

 ** _A/N:_** _Like I said, a lot of things have been changed and altered, but don't judge me too harshly for it. Most was written on a whim and then adjusted, plus a few things were deliberately changed to fit the characters. I hope everyone enjoyed it, and I know you must have a lot of questions, so please **Read & Review**!_


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